


Five Times John Was A Wonderful Father

by felisblanco



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Five Times, M/M, fic 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-15
Updated: 2006-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times John Was A Wonderful Father

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poisontaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/gifts).



> Spoiler for SPN 112 (Faith). These may be read as five snippets from the same story or as five separate drabbles.

  
"Is that all he does?"

His mother just smiled and ran her fingers through Dean's tangled hair before turning back to watching the baby suckle her breast.

Dean pouted. His little brother was finally here and all he did was sleep and cry and poop stinky diapers. It had been a week already and little Sammy wasn't showing any signs of getting bigger. What was the use in having a little brother if you couldn't even play with him? And he was always there, in mommy's arms when Dean wanted to crawl into her lap. Like mommy was just his now and not Dean's at all.

"Hey, Dean-o. What do you say we let your mother rest and go to the park? Just you and me."

Dean looked up. Daddy was smiling down at him, bouncing a baseball in his hand.

"We could play catch?"

"Yeah!" He jumped off the couch and ran for his jacket but at the doorway he stopped and turned back, gently placing a kiss on Sammy's wrinkled forehead.

Not his fault he was so small. Besides, once he got bigger they could all go to the park together and Dean would teach him how to throw the ball, just like dad. He could wait.

\--------

"So, kiddo. What's up?"

Sam sniffed and bit his lip, his eyes red rimmed and puffy. "Nothing."

John sighed. Who'd have thought his little Sammy would prove to be a troublemaker. "Come on, Sam. If I'm going to see your teacher I'd like your version of it first, ok?"

Sam glanced up at his father and then dropped his eyes, staring at the bruised knuckles of his right hand. His breath was ragged. "They called me trash. Said… said I smelled like trash and… and that my mom was probably a.. a…trailer trash… whore." The last word was only a whisper, his lips twitching downward as he blinked the tears out of his eyes.

John stood silent, staring out the window and down at the empty schoolyard below. Then he closed his eyes for a brief second before turning around and looking down at the small boy sitting slumped on the bench, his clothes torn and the laces of one of his sneakers undone.

"I hope you got them good."

Sam's head snapped up and he stared at his father in shock. Then his eyes suddenly lit up and he smiled wide enough to crack open the split in his lip. "Yes, sir. Knocked them right out."

John just nodded before turning back to the window. "Good." He swallowed. "That's good."

  


\--------

He could hear singing from the other end of the hall, some twisted carols, which lyrics had very little to do with Christmas spirit. He felt odd, more out of place than ever since he came to this place. Everyone was celebrating the end of term, having a last fling before going home to spend the holidays with their families. By Christmas Eve he would be pretty much alone at his dorm, even Ompala the exchange student had gotten himself invited to stay over with some friends. The guy didn't even speak English and he already knew more people than Sam did.

Sam shrugged as he pulled the keys out of his pocket and opened the door. Not like his family was ever big on Christmas anyway.

It caught his eye as soon as he stepped into the room. A simple white envelope, lying innocently on the bedspread, his name scrawled on it in a handwriting he knew better than his own. He glanced around the room but it showed no signs of anyone having been there since he left for his run an hour ago. Not that it would.

Tentatively he walked over and picked it up, weighing it in his hand for a moment before running his finger under the flap. Three hundred dollar bills slipped out into his hand and he stared at them in disbelief. Checking inside the envelope there was a small note and he pulled it out, noticing that his hands shook slightly.

 _Don't spend it all in one go._

There was no signature.

Sam sat heavily down on the bed and stared at the money in his hand. There was a lump forming in his throat and he blinked in order to clear his eyes.

In the hall a chorus of drunken voices broke out in their very own and dirty version of "Silent Night."

  


\--------

 _"Hey, Dad. It's Sam. Uh….you probably won't even get this, but, uh….It's Dean. He's sick, and uh….the doctors say there's nothing they can do. Um….but, uh, they don't know the things we know, right? So, don't worry, cause, uh….I'm gonna do whatever it takes to get him better. Alright….just wanted you to know."_

"That your boy? Aaww. Sounds pretty broken."

John struggles against the restraints, his mind working at a million miles per minute. Nothing they can do? What does that mean? Not… Sam's not saying that…? God. But there's no denying the broken sound of Sam's voice, the sharp intakes of his breath as he was obviously trying to keep from crying. And that message was three days old, who knows what has happened?

The witch is still talking but he can't hear a word, his mind twisting and turning with possibilities, each worse than the other. Sick. Which means it's not a wound. Must be something supernatural because no illness would ever break Dean. Or what? There's cancer. And… fuck. The kid's been around but John's always preached to his boys to be careful. Still, you can never be one hundred percent safe, can you?

He snaps back to reality when his phone hits the wall, breaking into a hundred pieces.

"Now then… where were we? Yes, you were about to tell me where you hid my gem."

The gem she uses to cast spells of death and destruction against the few people still living in this cursed village. The one he hid so well she'll never be able to find it on her own. The one he's been refusing give her the directions to for five days now, even if his head is spinning from bloodloss and his whole body is breaking. Except now…

"Ok. But you have to unchain me."

She eyes him suspiciously and he lays on his most charming smile. "Now, how else am I gonna take you there?"

By the time he has a new phone working and can check in with his voicemails there's a message from Joshua, telling him he's glad that healer could fix Dean's heart.

 _"Heard it was a close one. Your boy sure has Lady Luck on his side."_

  
He slides down the wall of the small motelroom and cries for the first time in years, silent weeping that wets the palms off his hands. After a few minutes he wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket and stands up.

He has a witch to kill.

  


\--------

He's only been away for a minute, remembering at the last second as he's about to start the truck that he forgot his hunting knife on the kitchen table. The boys are still inside, gathering up their gear, the door unlocked so he walks right in.

At first he thinks they're fighting, as they don't even seem to notice him, and he's about to yell out at them to get a move on, to save their bullshit until later. That's when he notices that Sam's right hand is resting on Dean's hip, the other flat against the wall beside Dean's head. What…?

He stands frozen, watching as Dean turns his head, eyes closed, and places a kiss on Sam's thumb. Sam's head drops forward, his breath ragged, and then he's kissing his way along Dean's jaw until he reaches his lips.

John steps quietly back and closes the door behind him. He stands still for a moment, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to get his breathing under control. Then he takes a deep breath and stamps his feet, before loudly jingling the keys in the lock. By the time he opens the door Sam is folding his clothes down into his duffelbag and Dean looks up from where he stands at the bed, checking his guns.

"Forgot my knife."

The boys nod and he crosses the floor, careful not to look at either of them. The knife feels unnaturally heavy in his hand and his knuckles turn white as he clutches the handle. With a gruff "Hurry up" he walks out, closing the door firmly behind him.

fin


End file.
